


Out For Two Weeks: Upper Body

by opusculasedfera



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opusculasedfera/pseuds/opusculasedfera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert is going stir-crazy enough in his apartment without people winking at him and making avian flu jokes.<br/>That includes you, Bea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out For Two Weeks: Upper Body

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite a prequel to my genderswap Halloween porn for these two, but set in Wilkes-Barre-Scranton in 2012 anyway, just so the timeline could work out.
> 
> Many thanks to mistfarer and maleyka for betaing, and to x2xbandgeekx2x for making all of this amazing art. Art is embedded throughout the fic and much of it is nsfw, just so you're warned! Also available as a pdf [here](http://wraparoundpurl.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/out2weeks-pages.pdf) if you prefer.

Bea is like some kind of shining statue in the sunlight streaming into the living room, lighting up her hair, turning her tan gold and glowing.

Also, when she flops backwards over the arm of the couch, it does fucking amazing things to her tits which were kind of already spilling out of her tanktop.

Robert sort of wants to shoot himself in the face before he loses his mind even further. Bea turns her head toward him. "Yo, you wanna bang?" she says. 

Too late. He's already delusional.

"Sorry?" he says, looking back at the tv where she's definitely beating the shit out of him in this gunbattle, what with him taking all that time off for creepy staring.

"Banging. You, me, yes, no?" Bea says. Robert makes a garbled noise and she looks impatient. "Dude, it's not a difficult question. I'm horny now, not in, like, a million years, hurry up."

"Sure, okay," he says awkwardly. She wrinkles her nose at him.

"You could be more enthusiastic," she says, but she's jabbing at the controller and the game's turning off and she's standing up to throw herself – hard, fucking hell, that hockey ass is goddamn heavy – onto his lap.

"C'mon, get into it," she says against his jaw, shimmying a little, like she's illustrating enthusiasm. Robert thinks he's kissing back just fine, especially when he's still not completely sure he isn't going to wake up in his living room to Bea having beaten the shit out of him at CoD and totally laughing at his sleep-boner. The boner is definitely real, that much he's sure of, and should definitely count as proof that he's as into it as she could possibly want. He shimmies back, dick rubbing against her thigh, and she laughs, kissing him again, teeth digging into his lip.

Her hands feel amazing in his hair, nails scraping along the back of his neck. He wants to inhale, big deep breath to feel it, sparks settling in his skin, but they're still kissing, lips and tongue soft and wet, and Robert's breath burning in his lungs.

He's still gasping when she drags his hand away from the arm of the chair to hiss, "Touch me," which sounds a little bit like "you moron," but he did manage to forget that he had limbs for a minute there so it’s possibly justified.

"Your hands are so big," she says approvingly when he worms his hands up her shirt to cup her tits, her nipples pressing against his palms. He can feel where they drag along his skin, leaving a line of sensitized skin tingling in their wake.

"Dick's not bad either," Robert says and is rewarded with a grin.

"Oh, we'll get there." It's more conversational than anything else, statement of fact that knocks him flat, while Bea's still just pressing close against him, her tits pushing against his chest when she goes in to bite his neck. His free hand slides down her hip, where she spreads her legs just enough for him to slip his hand up her thigh, thumb flirting with the hem of her shorts. Her fingers dig, abruptly, into his shoulder and she makes happy noises as he trails his hands further up to where her underwear is already damp, tracing the outline of her cunt through the fabric.

"You wanna move this to the bedroom?" Robert says, Bea's hips still rocking against his hand.

"Think your roommate'll come home?" she says.

"I like beds," he says. "Lots of room. Something you short people wouldn't get, maybe." Her elbow to the ribs is weaksauce, he must be doing this right. "But yeah, my imaginary roommate, whatever." She huffs a laugh and slides to her feet, stifling a gasp when the motion presses his hand harder against her for a second before it slips out of her shorts, dangling uselessly at his side.

"C'mon, if you're going to," she says, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. Her hair's a little fucked up, but no more than it usually is when she's thrashing around at CoD like the controller will respond faster if she waves it in the air. Robert knows for a fact just how damp her cunt is, how swollen the folds felt under his fingers, pressing against her underwear. He doesn't know how she can still be so relaxed, her walk barely changed as she propels him on with a hand on his ass. He walks gingerly, his boner awkwardly obvious, feeling like he's wobbling.

Bea couldn't actually pin him to his bedroom door if she tried, but she does her damnedest, and with his dick squeezed happily between their bellies, Robert's not actually going to try to push her off. He kisses along her jaw and down her neck and she shivers, pressing her tits more firmly against him. He's going to die, right here, possibly while still hallucinating.

"Dude, it's too hard to climb you like a tree while we're upright," Bea says eventually, still grinding, nails scraping the back of Robert's neck.

"Um," he says cleverly, and he's not entirely sure how they ever reached the bed, but they did somehow manage those couple steps because they're there, Bea straddling Robert's hips, the knotted tangle of the sheets hard and lumpy against his back. She leans down to kiss him, arms bracketing his head, and he slides his hands down her back, settling them on the curve of her ass. 

It occupies him thoroughly while she nudges him about with her knees, shifting his hips around to where she wants them, and he’s definitely not going to mind when she makes that amazing noise as she finally grinds down against him.

“Shit, pants,” she says as they finally break their kiss to inhale desperately, but her hips are still moving and it takes them a while to stop rocking against each other, Robert pressing open-mouthed kisses to Bea’s neck as she slides sideways. 

Sweatpants turn out to take just short of eternity to remove and it’s not fair because Bea slipped right out of her shorts and she is just astonishingly fucking naked in his bed right now, tugging his shirt off over his head while his pants are still around his ankles. He has to stop bracing himself on his elbow so she can pull it off over his head and he falls back onto the mattress, feeling kind of stunned, as she yanks it up and over.

“You got a condom?” Bea says as she goes to straddle him again. “Because I am going to ride this train.” It’s probably not funny, Robert knows this. But now he’s laughing helplessly and Bea’s joining in and her tits jiggle like crazy when she laughs so he’s just kind of laughing and staring and that’s how he remembers why she’s super fucking naked and he needs to get that condom for her right this instant. 

Bea palms his ass when he leans over to grab a handful from the drawer and squeezes before she lets go to take one of the packets from the pile. Her grin looks like she might make another joke, and Robert’s not sure he can take it, but she doesn’t, just rips it open and rolls the condom down his boner.

He’s not sure he can take that either.

When Bea leans down to kiss him, biting at his lips, his dick slides against her cunt, so wet he can feel it through the latex.

She pulls back for a second and Robert doesn’t know how she can look that thoughtful with her fingers in her own cunt, spreading the lips so she can sit on his dick.

“Don’t worry about it, just hang on,” she says when Robert tries to help, brushing his hands away and smoothing them across her thighs. He can feel her muscles flexing, too big for his hands to fit around, all smooth motion as she rocks down. She’s looking in his direction, but it’s like she’s looking through him, focused on something else, which is weird for a moment and then he realises it’s probably his dick she’s thinking about and that is hot as hell.

“You sure?” he says, kind of late, he guesses, because she tilts her head to one side, though she doesn’t stop riding him.

Her groan when he rolls his hips is fucking beautiful.

It’s still all her show the whole way through, basically. Robert’s doing his best in the hip department, but she’s really just fucking the hell out of him, fingers on her own clit, patting his hand as if to keep it where it is when he tries to slide it off her ass and help out. Her thighs are still moving rock-solid, but her cheeks are pink and she’s loud as hell when she likes something.

“You can come whenever,” she says, panting, after a while, when Robert’s thrusts are already getting shakier and he’s digging his fingers into the sheets.

“Fuck you, I can keep going,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Uh huh?” Bea says and rolls her hips again.

She slips off him when he starts to soften up after, but she doesn’t really move, still kind of grinding against his thigh like she’s working off the aftershocks. Robert’s hands feel like blocks when he goes to stroke her thigh, still sex-dumb and all his nerves revolting. “You done?” he says, in a voice he likes to think is closer to cocky than hoarse, even with how loud he was screaming.

“Or what?” she says, teeth sharp.

“Sit on my face?” he says, with a shrug that doesn’t work so well lying down.

Her eyes open a little, like she wasn’t expecting that exactly, and says, “Fucking right.”

There’s the usual maneuvering before Bea’s actually kneeling over Robert’s face, so they’re both laughing a little when he sticks out his tongue to lick her, sloppy and ridiculous. It must feel good though, because she shimmies and her laugh gets a little hiccupy, like her breathing’s gone funny. He can’t see her face anymore, or maybe he could if he tried harder or pulled her down over him or something, but this is pretty awesome as it is. 

She’s super intensely wet and it’s going basically everywhere, which is hot, but also Robert’s not really sure where he is, tongue slipping against slick folds. He licks up, a broad stripe that makes her shiver and focuses in on the little gasp he gets at the end, wrapping his lips around her clit until she moans. He sucks gently, tongue flicking, but she's fucking grinding down now.

It's easiest to leave his tongue flat against her clit, let her take what she wants. He gets another moan when he flutters it, so he does that again, but she's pressing down so heavily he doesn't have a lot of room to move, mostly just pressing up against her and trying to breathe from time to time.

The jokes about broken noses seem weirdly plausible now, but Robert's enjoying himself too much to care now. Bea's just going fucking nuts; those noises are incredible - Robert might fucking moan himself if his mouth wasn't way, way too busy for that.

He literally cannot breathe when she comes, grinding down against his tongue, the motion of her thighs finally shaking and jerky. She sucks in a long breath as she stills, muscles relaxing slowly, knees unlocking, and Robert matches her as she lifts off, a little creaky, for which he is happy to take full credit, though he's not sure he's earned it.

"Shit, man, smothered yet?" Bea says, toppling to one side.

"All good," Robert says, giving her a thumbs up with his slightly stiff hand. She smacks it, laughing, and he pulls her toward him to cuddle automatically, stopping the motion awkwardly halfway through when he realizes he doesn't know if she's into that. Bea flops down on his shoulder so he thinks it must be okay, and she doesn't seem to mind when he puts his arm around her, the soft curves of her body melting against his.

"Gonna go walk of shame it now," Bea says when Robert's starting to drift off listening to her slow breathing, her chest rising and falling gently against his. It's a kind of a blow: he didn't think he was that shit at this, and it's not like he was going to spread it around.

"You don't have to," he says, squeezing his arm around her shoulders.

"Nah, but I said I'd skype my sister and I have no bras left and probably the equipment guys'll be mad at me if I try to get them to do my laundry again." She wriggles out of his loose embrace and stretches, scrubbing her hands through her short hair which only fluffs up more vigorously. 

There's a lot to unpack in that, but what Robert says is, "this is how you prep to call your sister?"

Bea's eyes are wide and disingenuous. "What, you think it'll be obvious?"

He honestly can't tell. Her lips are kind of really fucking red and her hair's pretty all over the place, but it always gets like that after practice, especially when she gets distracted halfway through towelling it off. She is totally naked, which does keep drawing his eyes, but he figures she'll change that before she actually leaves his apartment. "Um," he says helpfully.

"Also, like she'd care," Bea says, like an afterthought. "Good looking out though, bro."

"You're still a weirdo," Robert points out defensively. "I'm not gonna call my mother right now, you know?"

"I'm not gonna tell her about this, jesus, she’s a fucking child," Bea says. "Good times though, thanks man." She hops off the bed, patting Robert's dick as she goes and laughing when he jerks upright.

He waves it off, a little grumpy, and manages to put pants on by the time she's done her lightning-fast dressing and is out the bedroom door. It can't really count as walking her to the door if he's four or five steps behind her the whole way, but the gesture seems like the classy thing to do or some shit, even if it seems pretty clear how she feels about this whole experience by now.

"See you tomorrow?" she says as she reaches the door, and he is not expecting this kiss the least little bit, and certainly not the ass groping that comes with it. She draws a hand down his bare chest as they break apart, and says, " _Nice_ " in what's only sort of an undertone, probably to herself.

Robert should probably expect by now that she likes to leave him blinking and baffled as she wafts out the door. He runs a hand over his chin and goes to see if there's any pasta left in the fridge.

Maybe he will call his mom. He doesn't really have any other plans this evening, and he's probably overdue for it. Apparently it's normal, after all.

She isn’t even home, which is just typical, but he leaves a long, super normal message for her anyway, because if he can’t brag to his mom of all people that Coach said he’s really getting that drill, what’s the point of it all?

It’s a little dumb how easily reheated pasta soothes his feelings, but he has never claimed to be a complicated man, and carbs are the best. Bea might be busy doing boring laundry, but Robert has some videogame ass to kick, a full stomach and a pretty good afterglow going on, despite everything. It’s a good night all round.

 

He feels like he fucking murdered his back when he wakes up in the morning. To the point where he’s lying in bed wiggling his toes like a crazy person and wondering if he cracked a vertebra. He’s not sure snapped back actually manifests itself like this though and he’s had too many years of coaches shouting at him about taking care of your goddamn body to try to sleep it off if he just slept on his shoulder funny like a moron. His shoulders feel heavy as fuck when he drags himself crankily out of bed, and he’s still mentally running through everything he did at practice yesterday to work out what the fuck is wrong, when he takes his head out of his ass long enough to look into the mirror over the dresser he’s trying to find boxers in. There’s some massive fucking pair of, like, eagle wings hanging out on his back.

Bea makes an angry and incomprehensible noise into the phone when she finally picks up, the third time Robert dials her number.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Robert says, over her still impenetrable fury. 

There’s a pause.

“We boned, Bort, remember?” she says, her voice coming into focus. She laughs, tailing off into a yawn that’s audible even over the line. “Are your thighs killing you today or something? Because let me tell you, you definitely didn’t work hard enough for that. Weak, bro.”

Robert definitely doesn’t ragefully crush the phone. “You know I mean these motherfucking wings, asshole. What the _fuck_?”

There’s another pause. A long one. Robert has to check the phone and make sure he didn’t actually destroy it before Bea says, “Dude, what? Are you high already? Because firstly, it’s not bros to not share, and second, we have practice at 10 and you are terrible at coming down that fast, I can say that from experience.”

“It’s not my fault I apparently can’t _go_ to morning skate,” Robert says. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of sounding even and relaxed and not like he’s losing his mind.

“I don’t know what the fuck you expect me to do,” Bea says, still kind of horrifyingly amused. “Go get some coffee or something. Like, a _lot_ of coffee. And then lie like crazy and hope Coach barely looks at you all day.”

“I don’t think I have any coffee,” Robert says. The wings stick in the doorway to the kitchen which yanks on his already tender shoulder muscles like hell on earth.

“You remember about coffee shops, right? You give them money and they give you all the caffeine you could possibly desire.”

“I’m still blaming you for this,” Robert says automatically, still digging through cupboards and smashing his goddamn wings on the edge of a door or counter what feels like every minute.

“Bud, I haven’t given you weed in weeks, and my vag is pretty fab, but it’s not actually hallucinogenic,” Bea says. “But I will bring you some goddamn coffee if it makes you get off the phone. We can talk about how much you owe me and how this will be repaid later. And it _will_ be repaid.”

“That’s not-” Robert says, but she’s hung up on him. He does unlock the door before he goes to sulk on the couch with toast; he’s a good friend like that.

Bea hammers on the door for a bit before she tries the handle, and she’s in full spate about what a lazy fucker he is, can’t even get the door for a good friend taking time out of her day to bring lazy fuckers a coffee, when she slams to an abrupt halt in the doorway to shout, “Holy shit, you motherfucker. What did you do?”

“What did _I_ do?” he says defensively. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Um, bro,” she says, sitting down on the couch, coffee clutched forgotten in her hand. “That’s not nothing.”

“It just happened to me,” Robert says. “It’s not like this has happened before.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” Bea says, cracking herself up. Robert steals the coffee cup from her while she laughs. He’s almost halfway through it before she’s able to speak again.

“They’re real, right?” she says, still hiccupping. “I mean, they look real as shit, but this is a dumb fucking prank, man. That’s a lot of money on special effects.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Robert says. “I mean, I can feel them and shit. I didn’t get anyone to do this, if that’s what you mean. I can’t really reach around to where they’re attached though.”

He’s almost starting to doubt himself, until Bea stretches out a hand and draws it along the underside of one wing, all the way to his back. Just a faint pressure, all the way along, but it feels super fucking intense and weird. He makes a noise when she runs her fingers over the place where the wings vanish into his skin, and he’s not sure if it’s that or having satisfied her curiosity that makes her draw her hand away.

“Yeah, I guess you’re pretty fucked for hockey,” she says, her tone as light as her touch. “Like, super fucked. Coach is not going to believe this.”

“I’m fucked for everything,” Robert says. “I mean, what the goddamn hell?”

“One thing at a time,” Bea says unhelpfully. She pats his head when he puts his face in his hands. “You can call them, tell them you need one of the doctors here, I’ll tell them when I get there that you looked too shitty to get out of bed. I don’t know what the fuck we’ll do after that, but maybe they’ll have some ideas?” Her hand feels nice in his hair. He doesn’t know what to do about that either.

“You’re a good friend,” he says awkwardly when she finally decides she’s got to go to skate as she doesn’t have a crazy-ass excuse to give them. “Thanks.”

“I’m the best,” she says, laughing. “Don’t you forget it,” and she’s gone.

He leaves the weirdest fucking message ever for the trainers, too afraid to actually say the word wings, but kind of scared that if he’s too vague they’ll call 911 or something; he’s self-aware enough to know that he kind of sounds panicked as shit. Ultimately, all he gets is one of the team doctors knocking at the door, clearly pretty much expecting that he’s hiding a hangover, right up until he gets into the room.

It all gets a little weird after that. At least when Coach turns up, he doesn’t call him a gift to science and suggest some really unpleasant tests. In fact, Robert would almost be prepared to believe that he somehow hasn’t noticed the wings, he so completely fails to mention them and sounds more or less like he thinks Robert’s fucked his knee or something super normal, except that he never ever suggests Robert come out to the rink and start his rehab.

“I’ll, ah, keep him quiet, son,” Coach says finally, darting a glance out where the doctor has been banished to the hallway. “You just rest this one up, and keep us all posted. Let us know if we can do anything.”

“Right,” Robert says. “Thanks.” He doesn’t even know what he’d ask someone to do, but maybe he’ll come up with something soon. Something other than a hacksaw, which Coach did kind of gingerly suggest, but between the doctor losing his mind over the opportunities he’s affording science right now and how fucking sensitive these things are to anything – which made Coach’s understandable need to feel that they were real for himself something Robert is never ever thinking about again – that’s not fucking happening.

He panic-watches like four hours of golf while sitting very still and pretending that nothing is happening at all. It’s not really a plan, but he still doesn’t have a better one when he finally realises he still doesn’t know what tournament this is or who any of these people are. 

_u still a freak?_ Bea texts him later.

_fuck u_ , Bort sends back.

_k I'll bring take out_ , Bea replies.

"You should have seen Coach's face," she tells him over dinner, waving a forkful of potatoes in his direction. "He was fucking pissed when you didn't show up, but I was still doing my cooldown when he got back to the rink, and he looked like he was losing his mind. Fantastic. Wonder how he tried to explain that one to the front office. If this is a prank, it's less dumb by the second, I gotta hand it to you."

"I wish it was a fucking prank," Robert says into his meatloaf. 

"Bud, it's cool, I believe you," Bea says airily. "I'm just saying, if it was, and you convinced the doctors and shit, well done."

He flaps pointedly, which he kind of figured out how to do today when he had nothing else to do and he’d stopped hoping that they might just drop off if he didn’t acknowledge they existed. It's not the most graceful move he's ever managed, even when he was awkwardly practicing in front of the mirror, the smooth spread of feathers behind his head impossible to believe in, even with the tug on his shoulders. 

"Yeah, that's freaky as hell. Just what I'm talking about." 

"How the fuck would I make this happen with special effects?" Robert asks, which seems like a fair question to him.

Bea shrugs. "Like I'd know, I just play hockey. Maybe you've got some weirdo special effects hobby going on." She pats his knee and goes back to her dinner. "So, you remember how Megs has been claiming he totally got that girl's number from Friday night?"

If Bea's being this tactful, it's possible she actually believes Robert's going to die. He takes the change of topic anyway.

"Hey, what do I owe you for food?" Robert says when Bea stretches and says she should probably go to the rink now, loser.

"Eh, whatever, it's your turn to buy for like a week when this shit's over," Bea says. She kicks him in the ankle. It's still kind of comforting, even if it's the vaguest possible timeframe. Not even a timeframe, honestly, but at least someone thinks this might end. She ruffles his wings on her way to letting herself out and Robert sits on the couch and tries to decide if it's stupider if his boner was caused by that or by the way she slouched all across his couch like she was wearing something a lot more interesting than Pens sweats.

He jerks it anyway, because might as well not waste it, and it's kind of a distraction from the wings, at least once he gets used to sitting this fucking upright because he still can't lean back. It's weirdly formal, which is disconcerting for anything that ends in a sock.

Compared to the next couple days, it’s practically an adventure.

 

Robert’s so fucking bored. He considers watching the game, thinks better of it, tries to watch the Pens one, or at least puts it on while he fucks around on his tablet, but he’s mainly sulking. This sucks on a whole number of levels, uppermost in his mind the fact that he would like to sit back like a normal goddamn person for a bit instead of perching on the ottoman, his wings falling gracefully behind it, like some kind of formal weirdo.

There’s nothing to fucking do. At this point, he would generally go downstairs and start annoying his teammates, but probably being the crazy winged dude in the apartment hallway isn’t exactly how he wants to make the news. They’re probably home. They don’t have a game or practice or anything right this second and it’s not like they have goddamn lives. They probably need the excitement of being texted _boreddddddd_ with varying quanties of ‘d’s at half-minute intervals, interspersed with _come see me :(_

After eighteen thousand years, Simon texts back, _don’t you have the plague?_.

_no_ Robert replies, then _fuck off_ , _it’s weird_ , and _don’t judge me_ in quick succession, which is possibly the worst way to put it ever.

_ur never gonna believe me but bea’s fine. So._ he adds. It’s also a stupid thing to say, but it at least makes his asshole friends curious enough to show up.

They react sort of well. Comparatively anyway.

“At least you basically don’t have to wear a shirt ever right now?” Megs says unhelpfully, once he’s picked himself up off the floor.

“Tactless,” Simon clucks. “Be kind to our freak bro.”

Robert kicks him. They scuffle for a while until Simon kind of falls onto one of the stupid wings and it basically feels like Robert’s whole arm is coming off and he’s rolling around on the floor screaming with everyone standing around him looking kind of stunned. Even Bea’s leaning forward from her seat on the couch _and_ she’s stopped laughing, which is a first since she shepherded the rest of their friends into the room and they all lost their damn minds. He’s had better days.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he croaks from the floor, rolling his shoulders and back gingerly. Everything seems to be in place. Megs’ mouth has fallen open.

“Holy crap, they move,” he says. His eye is kind of twitching.

“Yup,” Robert says, still holding onto his shoulder, even though that’s not where it hurts. “Told you that you wouldn’t believe this shit.”

No one seems to know what to say to that, so everyone leaps gratefully on Gibby’s suggestion of Netflix and then basically no one brings it up for like two hours. It would be weird if it wasn’t so awesome. 

There is some bitching when Robert gets to point out that he couldn’t possibly go get the delivery at dinner time , but it is pretty much the first thing that hasn’t been terrible about these stupid wings so far. Besides, they’re all drinking his beer anyway, and also all his vodka since Gibby claimed she needed liquor to get over the shock.

It takes a whole bunch of eps of Breaking Bad before people start drifting out and they’re almost all gone by the time they’re ticking over into season two.

“I’ll go in a minute,” Bea says, waving her beer bottle at Simon’s departing back. “Just gonna finish this.” He nods and waves absently, seeing himself out.

Robert shrugs. “Whenever.” He flops down on the couch beside Bea.

The advantage to lying on the couch like this is that he’s not sitting on the damn ottoman. Also, his head isn’t quite on Bea’s lap, even with the amount of space her comfortable sprawl takes up on the couch, but he can think about it a lot like this, which is kind of fun, even if he’s not really sure she’d still be into that. He can still see the tv if he spreads his wings stupidly so they drape down to the floor, which isn’t that different from how his legs are sticking out uncomfortably over the far arm of the couch.

He’s probably not paying enough attention to the tv if there’s no possibility in his mind that, when Bea says, “This is so fucking weird,” for the ninetieth time in the last couple days, she could be referring to something happening on-screen. “I just want to, like, fuck with them all the time,” she continues. “Prove it’s fake, you know?” She starts absently stroking a finger along the top of one wing as she speaks. It feels super weird. Also amazing.

“Oh, feel free,” Robert says, because he would take being made fun of forever if it meant that he could actually leave this stupid box of an apartment. In the absence of that relief, he would definitely take being petted for a long, long time. It’s a little like Bea can tell what he’s really thinking because she keeps going, one hand exploring the textures of his wing, even while she alternates between eating popcorn with the other, and running commentary on the tv.

It feels almost like normal when her hand goes across the feathers lying flat across his back, like a backrub, but it screws with his head like crazy when her touch moves farther out from his body across the breadth of the wing. Robert can’t tell if it’s because his brain is sure he shouldn’t be able to feel anything from over there or what, but it’s like every feather she comes near needs to send its own message down his overtaxed nerves, an intense burst of feeling all the way along.

“Hey there,” Bea says when he shivers startlingly under her hand like he’s trying to shake out the sharpness under his skin.

“Sorry,” he says stupidly. “It’s all good.”

“Uh-huh?” she drawls, fingers digging into feathers.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one messing with my shit.” His voice is reasonably smooth still, he thinks.

“True,” she says, like she’s chewing that over. She crunches some more popcorn. Her other hand is still curved along the crest of his wing. Her thumb strokes slow circles. 

Robert breathes.

“So, like, how hard are you right now?” Bea asks, long after she starts stroking his wing again, drawing lines down the lie of the feathers.

The answer is: very. Robert is doing an amazing job of not humping the couch though, thanks very much. “Shut up,” he says instead. Bea laughs.

“You wanna bang again? Take your mind off shit?”

“Yeah, all right,” Robert says, acutely aware of her nails moving gently across his back where the wing vanishes into his flesh.

Bea flicks his ear. “If you’re gonna be a dick, offer revoked. Or, you could do something more useful with your mouth.” 

Robert can feel the hip thrusts that accompany this remark brush the top of his head. He pushes himself up on his arms, laughing, to look into Bea’s grinning face and eye the space in front of the couch. It’s probably not big enough for him and the wings all together. But he wants it to be.

Bea only laughs when he makes a disconsolate noise and slumps across her thighs. “Not very effective, buddy. Other room?”

It’s four steps, max, into the other room, but somehow it’s a bit slow and trippy when they head that way, Bea tugging playfully on the tips of Robert’s feathers, dragging him on and making him furious about the distance still to go all at once. Her hands seem to be everywhere: skating across his chest, smoothing over the edge of his hip, and coming back to the wings to bury themselves when he pulls her close for a kiss.

“May as well be naked,” she says, and really, he always knew she was the smart one.

 

Robert’s kissing his way down when Bea reaches out to untangle his wings from her knees, and it leaves him groaning obscenities into the crease of her hip, shaking against the round firmness of her thigh. She hums thoughtfully, stroking one last long stroke along the outline of Robert's wings before ostentatiously removing her hands to brace them against the mattress and rock up against him. Robert can take the hint. 

There's slick on his chin when he drags his mouth slowly down over her mound to lap where she's wettest, sharp salt taste against his tongue. She keens in her throat when he flickers his tongue on her clit, hips jerking when he goes back to long slow licks to tease her, and he spreads his hands over the backs of her thighs.

She presses against him, willing to take what she wants, but he can't tease too much, honing in on what makes her breath catch and knees shake. He's desperately grinding into the mattress himself, too far gone to be really good about technique, but he can definitely keep licking her just like this for a good long time when it makes her twist and swear furiously.

Her hips jerk up into his face and settle back down to the bed gently for a second, and Robert is pretty sure she just came, but she doesn't stop grinding so he keeps on going through an awful lot of shaking and screaming until she says, a little croaky, "okay, okay," hands batting faintly at his head.

His dick drags almost painfully against the sheets when he pushes up to look her in the eye, and she runs her thumb across his lip where he's biting into it. "Mmm, yeah, you should definitely fuck me now."

There's really no way to do this with the wings except like this, Robert balanced over her, her legs wrapped around his waist and pushing up against his thrusts. Bea reaches up to draw him in for a kiss, fingers running down the back of his neck to touch the edge of the feathers.

No real rhythm to it, just a faint touch, but Robert thinks his hips are trying to match it anyway, something to go with the weird pulses of feeling that run down his spine. Bea clenches around him and it's all just a bit much, Robert groaning into her neck as his hips go crazy and he comes with no finesse whatsoever.

He’s still lying face-down in the mattress afterwards, blissed out to hell when Bea stretches thoughtfully and says, “I’m hungry now.”

“Food, kitchen,” Robert says with an illustrative wave of his hand. Her hand, running across his outstretched wing on her way off the bed, makes his spine fizz again, and he gasps, the sound hopefully muffled by the pillow his face is mashed into.

The bed bounces under her weight when she returns. “Cheese,” Bea says triumphantly.

“Did you find the crackers?” Robert mumbles from his pillow. “They’re kind of behind the jar of protein powder, I think.”

“Nah,” Bea says. She leans up, batting something soft against his cheek. It is, when Robert turns his head, a slice of cheese. He takes it, because why not. Bea pats his cheek approvingly, trailing her hand along his jaw, down his neck, along the edge of his wing, feeling the shape of the bones under her hand. It was almost more than Robert could bear when they were fucking, and it almost feels like it’s as oversensitive as his dick now, making him shiver uncontrollably when the sensation gets too much.

Bea doesn’t stop.

It gets less overwhelming as she goes on, more relaxing, though Robert still feels keyed up, all shivers and little gasps into the pillow.

“I want to fuck you like this,” Bea says contemplatively after what feels like a long, long time.

“We just did?” Robert points out. It was pretty good for him. He thought it was good for her too, even beyond the novelty value of fucking some weirdo with wings.

She trails her hand down the trailing feathers on his wings, over his hip. “Nah, like, I wanna _fuck_ you,” she says. “Like this, ass up, petting your wings. I bet you’d lose your mind.” Based on how her hand feels squeezing his ass, Robert would pretty much let her do anything.

“You don’t have a dick though,” he says dizzily.

“I’ve got a vibe upstairs,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to sound off-handed. “It would work. I don’t have to turn it on or anything.” Her thumb is stroking across his tailbone, Robert didn’t even know that was a thing and now he never wants her to stop.

He makes a terrible noise into the pillow, a little glad she can’t see his face. “Shit, go for it. Anything.”

“Cool,” she says, patting his ass. “I’ll bring it next time then. It’ll be good.”

“I’m sure,” he says, which comes out more honest and less sarcastic than he meant. He coughs. “You wanna lie down?”

“You’re taking up kind of a lot of the bed,” she says kindly. Robert lifts his wing to usher her down beside him, which doesn’t really work because he can’t figure out how to pull it back when his arms are all weird like this, and what he really ends up doing is sort of flapping, but she lies down anyway, cheek against his shoulder.

“This is still crazy as hell,” she informs him.

“You’ve already said that,” he grumps, and she grins, biting gently at his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s really hard to stay whiny when she’s naked and settling in comfortably against his side. He sort of has to spread his wing back over her, or at least that’s the most comfortable way he’s found to lie down, especially when he feels this beautifully relaxed. It’s not quite the same as being skin-to-skin against her, he can’t really feel texture at all, but there’s kind of a low-level buzz wherever she’s touching his wing, and it’s not like he isn’t kind of hyperaware that that’s totally her tits and everything.

“I’m gonna crash here,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at the ceiling. “Unless you mind, I mean.”

“Sure, do whatever,” he says, shrugging. 

Bea laughs. “Damn, that feels super weird.”

“Does it tickle?”

She narrows her eyes. “Kind of. But don’t you start, I will fucking end you, bro.” He’s still seriously considering it. But he does feel relaxed enough that it might be too much work, and also he might be losing his shit a little bit. 

He’s approaching over it when she actually falls asleep fast as hell and is the drooling snorer he knows and doesn’t really love from all those bus trips, but probably not enough to do anything. He falls asleep as well anyway.

 

Bea has to rush off to morning skate when she wakes up, stealing all of his remaining bagels on her way out, and Robert is stupidly jealous for someone who could totally go back to bed, or at least gets to sit on his couch with a cup of coffee. He has never wanted to leave his house in the morning this much in his entire life, he’s fairly sure.

It’s another boring fucking day. Simon drops in after skate to tell him that Coach says if they catch this off him, they’re all fucking dead meat, and also Robert had better be keeping up with his conditioning or he’s dead meat too. Robert can’t decide if it’s soothing or annoying to know that life is clearly going on outside without him.

“Fuck you, all of you assholes deserve to deal with this shit too,” he says.

“Damn, imagine a whole team of giant-winged motherfuckers,” Simon says thoughtfully. “We could fucking tear it up, eh? Couldn’t stop us if it was all of us, right?”

“So why don’t you douchewads hurry the fuck up and get on that?” Robert says, kicking him affectionately in the leg.

“Can you fly, man?” Simon says. “Because if you can’t, that’s the dealbreaker right there.”

Robert doesn’t think he can. He can barely flap in the directions he wants, let alone do something useful. He googled some stuff about birds flying, but it all seemed super fucking crazy. Birds can control individual fucking feathers for steering, apparently. Robert doesn’t think his brain works like that.

He scowls. “Why don’t you try then, if it’s so easy?” 

“Sorry, bro,” Simon says casually. “Maybe you’ll kick this thing soon?”

“It’s not a _drug habit_ ,” Robert hisses, and Simon is beset by giggles.

Robert does manage to win at Call of Duty, so he’s in a slightly better mood when Simon has to go, and he appreciates Simon’s sincere good wishes and shoulder pat, particularly the part where it was clearly intended as a back pat and Simon’s arm had to dangle uselessly near Robert’s wing until he could decide what to do with it. He punches Simon back, lovingly.

There isn’t really anything better to do after that than bike for a while, whether or not Coach told him to do it. Robert’s pretty sure his form is shit right now and his balance is a little off, but it’s a relief that his conditioning seems about the same, he can run through his regular program no problem. Google said birds have hollow bones, which seemed like a bad idea if he wants to go play hockey again and he’s definitely fucking playing hockey again.

He knows everyone has a game tonight and they can't hang out, but it doesn't make him less of a sulky asshole about it. He could call his mom, but it's weird having to lie to her, and he's pretty sure she doesn't believe him about having a little bug at all, even when he told her he'd be on the ice if he could, they just won't let him in case he infects everyone else. Which is unreasonable, he's not _that_ stupid when he's sick, totally.

Everyone online right now is shitty at NHL12, which is a boring way to play. Robert is pretty fucking chill, if he says so himself, totally willing to take advantage of a good day off to lie around in, but this is taking the damn cake, and he is sick of it. He can't fly either, which seems particularly cruel tonight, when he's banging his knees on the coffee table and feeling like a moron jumping around in his empty apartment.

His bruised knees don't really like being lain on when he finally gives up and goes to bed, but he can't lie down except on his stomach because of the stupid wings, so basically, everything is shit.

It's not any better in the morning. He does his conditioning like a good little boy and fucks around texting with some friends back home, though he thinks they're getting bored of his bitching. He’s pretty much immediately on his phone the second it dings at him, and it’s frankly not improving his mood any even talking to these guys. Practice is over, but he's pretending not to be keeping track of that, or at least not thinking about when people might be around to be harrassed again.

In any case, when Mark texts him again and his phone vibrates twice, Robert's still not expecting his careless swipe across the screen to direct him directly to Bea saying _freedom this aft. wanna bang?_

Distressingly, he's still fucking stupid enough about her that it cheers him up almost immediately and he only calls Mark a fucker in his reply and that in a practically loving way.

Bea shows up at the door soon after.

"Hey, birdboy," she says, but her eyes are still flicking across Robert's bare chest and this is definitely one of the many benefits of not being able to wear a shirt. 

She runs a hand up Robert's arm when he bends to kiss her, nails scraping soft along his skin. 

It's easy to lift her a little, just a joke because he has his hands on her ass and what else is he going to do with that aside from squeeze, which comes with the territory. Her grin, canines and all, is infectious, and she laughs as she wraps her legs around his waist, all challenge. 

Robert staggers. It's mostly the feeling of Bea's hands sinking into his wings as she tries to balance herself. Honestly.

He forgoes a remark in favour of burying his face in Bea's suddenly convenient cleavage. Her shimmy digs her bag a little further into his side, but also feels fantastic, especially with her hands driving him nuts along the stiff curve of his wings.

Bea bounces when dropped on the bed, shirt rucked up over her stomach, her hand going up to push her bangs off of her increasingly pink face.

"So, yeah," she says. "We can do whatever, or, that thing we were talking about, I totally brought it."

Robert blinks at her, still breathing heavily. "What?"

She shrugs, stripping off her tee. "I still wanna fuck you. But you were super blissed out when you said you were into it, if you're not down now, that's cool.” 

Tits are very mesmerising. "Hey, whatever you're into," Robert says, a little blurry.

Bea says, "Wicked," deep in her throat, and drags him down.

They roll around, stripping down, and Bea's careful not to lie on Robert's wings, but of nothing else, the feeling of her stroking down his feathers enough to send him out of his mind. He buries his head in her throat, nipping down the line of it to her collarbones and along the curve of her breast, gasping against her skin as he dips low enough for her to bury her hand in the feathers clustered between his shoulderblades.

It's working for her too, he's pretty sure: she's wet against his leg as he rubs up on her, dick against her hip. The wings arch over them both and Bea reaches up, running her fingers down their underside lightly, like a drop of water down skin, only better. By a lot. 

"You ready, bud?" she says in his ear, breath warm, and it shouldn't be sexy, but it is. She pushes Robert back onto his heels, leaning up to keep on kissing him, her hands sinking into feathers. He shudders as she pulls away.

Bea's bag's been kicked to the floor when she goes looking for it and she has to dig under their combined clothes, but Robert could probably use the moment to calm the fuck down anyway. He has to touch himself, he has to, but it's only one stroke on his dick before he makes himself stop, nowhere near ready to come yet. Bea touches his hand, fisted in the sheets, when she re-emerges, like she knows what he's thinking.

The backpack she shakes at him is much less sexy, though he's willing to be convinced.

The...object Bea removes from the bag is not as big as he'd kind of imagined, though he can feel the flush roll slow down his chest anyway, warm and tingly. The bottle of lube is a lot more familiar, though Robert wasn't quite expecting it to be half empty and desperately wants to ask. He doesn't, because he isn't jealous, and he would totally sound jealous. He's not much more into admitting that he wants to know if she's done the thing before, because he hasn't, but that's even worse to say aloud. He swallows instead and falls gratefully into her enthusiastic kiss, shaking under the feel of her hand curling back around the curve of his wing.

He groans when she pulls away and she inhales like she's drinking it in, voice hoarse when she says, "This is gonna be so hot." Robert's willing to believe it. 

The fucking wings mean he has to lie face down on the bed to make this work, which is weird right up until Bea pushes him down gently with her hands spread over feathers and then it's amazing again. It's not quite like a back rub, but that's the closest thing he can think of except that he’s not usually this on edge just from someone getting the kinks out of his spine.

Bea’s not really doing much more than that right now, running her hands down his spine just as much as over his spread wings. It’s almost a relief from the intensity of her hands digging into his feathers, smoothing along the edges of unfamiliar bones that are still somehow part of him. His dick digs into the comforter, and Robert feels about halfway between trembling and straight-up humping the bed, nothing like in charge of what his body is doing in response to this feeling.

He feels like he's losing track of Bea's hands, can't tell where she is and where it's the echo of her touch still blazing in his mind. He's snapped back to something when she runs her thumb down his ass, slick as well as warm, but it's hard to decide how he feels about all this. "'S good?" she asks, still petting down one wing, and she kisses Robert's hip when he hisses yes long and jittery. 

Her hands aren't that big, but it makes his hips stop anyway, the head of his dick caught in the blanket. She pets his hip. "Hang on, it'll get good in a sec, lemme just-" and then he's too busy making desperate noises to pay attention. 

Bea's fake dick feels a lot bigger going in than it looks. It's another intense sensation to go with the crazy shit going on all over his back, shivers no longer just down his spine but everywhere, Robert panting with every thrust.

"You can jerk it, my hands are kinda busy," Bea says after a long time, squeezing a handful of wing and curling her fingers so that Robert's eyes roll back in his head.

He doesn't have a lot of coordination right now when he goes to prop himself up on an elbow, but he's also so sensitive everywhere that his clumsy grip could make the fucking birds sing. He can't think about rhythm now, just stripping his dick almost mindlessly until Bea starts to go faster, thrusting quick and shallow, right along his nerves, and he realises he's shadowing her, hand on his dick speeding up to push him over the edge. 

His knees give when he comes, collapsing him onto the bed, the vibe coming almost all the way out of him, his breath going with it. Robert doesn't know what Bea does with it as she eases it out, too busy breathing through the feeling, twitching under the soothing stroke of her thumb over his hole.

He lifts his head, rubs the heel of his hand into his eye. "Shit, shit. Okay, hang on. I owe you one. I mean, _fuck_."

Bea laughs. "Okay, job well done, I think."

Robert nods vigorously, digging his face further into the pillow, which is temptingly comfortable, but he only allows himself a few seconds to wallow before he shoves himself up on his elbows to jerk his chin at the vacated pillow and say, "c'mere."

"Are you just gonna faceplant in my vag?" Bea says, lying back on the pillows, knees spreading.

"Maybe," Robert says dizzily.

In his defence, faceplanting in her vag is great.

He could do this for a long, long time, especially when he already feels this amazing, just lazy strokes along her folds, enjoying how wet she is, just from fucking him, but Bea keeps pushing up against his tongue, hands in his hair pulling him close. He flicks at her clit with his tongue and she arches her hips, pressing against his mouth, swearing furiously.

Those are easy instructions to follow to Robert stays there, lapping at Bea's clit while she squirms underneath him, hips still raised off the bed. Her fingers dig into his raised wing when she comes, her thighs squeezing tight against his ears. 

Robert rests his head against her thigh when he relaxes, considering moving, but without any real urgency. He's eventually chivvied into cleaning up, but it all pales beside everything else that happened this evening, and from the way Bea yawns into his shoulder, plastering herself sleepily against his side, she feels the same.

 

Robert wakes up to the pleasant warmth of Bea curled up in a tight knot against his back. He pushes back into it, maybe one-fifth of the way awake, if that, and she wraps herself around him even more, breath hot on the back of his neck. The weight is more familiar than it should be when they’ve barely fucked before, but the thought takes some time to swim around vaguely on the borders of his consciousness before it actually percolates its way to why. He rolls his shoulders experimentally, earning himself a poke in the ribs and a groan delivered into his hair, but no stomach-dropping weirdness.

“Holy shit,” he says, rolling onto his back to try to look Bea in the eye, feeling his face break out into the goofiest of smiles.

Her face is all scrunched up against the light. “Shhh, sleeping.” She puts one hand over his mouth, fingers spread. “ _Shhhh_.”

“But I don’t have wings!” he says, somewhat garbled. “Best day of my _life_.”

“But sleep,” she counters, which is kind of tempting, if also anti-climactic. He rolls onto his back, which is pretty fantastic in itself, and kisses her forehead. She yawns, and he can’t stop his own, but it’s not enough to put him back to sleep.

“No wingsssss,” he croons to her.

“I’m very excited,” she says blurrily. “It’s good. Very proud.”

“I get to finally fucking leave my apartment today,” Robert says, determinedly cheerful. “This is _great_.”

“Congrats man, this week was weird as shit,” Bea says, patting him on the thigh with a yawn. It’s not a sexy pat in the least, but it does remind him of something important.

He narrows his eyes. “Hang on, are you really, really sure you didn’t make this happen?”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t give me fucking wings, but now we fucked and they’re gone.”

“We fucked a bunch of times,” she points out, her hand moving under Robert’s like she thinks he needs gestures to get the picture. He threads his fingers through hers.

She squeezes him back when he says, with a cough, “Yeah, but this time was, uh, different.”

“ _Yeah_ , it was,” she says, sing-song.

“It’s a weird coincidence, you’ve got to admit.”

She curls up around his shoulder, she’s laughing so hard. “Sure, buddy, I cured you with my magic vibrator.”

Of course it sounds stupid put like _that_.

“Well, something happened,” Robert grumbles. Bea hums soothingly, rubbing her cheek against his. “Do you have a better explanation?”

“Ha, well, we could always test it,” Bea says with an exaggerated wink and a full-body shimmy. “Maybe I do have secret sex powers, you don’t know.” 

Robert’s a little terrified she might. But not that terrified.

It’s totally worth being like five minutes late to practice, especially because Bea gets the lion’s share of the chewing out, Robert being excused for just having gotten over being a freak apparently. He’s pretty sure Coach is still just dead set on pretending that none of this ever happened, which seems like a good plan. His locker is full of feathers, which is sort of freaky to have cascading down over your face suddenly, especially after the week he’s just had, but is soothed by the joy of stuffing as many of them down Simon’s shirt as is physically possible as punishment for laughing the loudest. 

It’s probable that he had help with this, and Robert strongly suspects Gibby, but he’s waiting for the right time to get back at her – she’s annoyingly fast when she wants to be.

Everyone is watching him critically the whole way through practice, but Robert feels more or less the same he did before all this shit happened. It’s not that surprising, he was pretty good about the workouts he was still able to do, even if Coach doesn’t quite seem like he believes him. He doesn’t fuck up more than usual so they all calm down more or less. Even Coach isn’t interested enough to not kick Robert out when he dawdles forever after practice, way more conscientious than he ever is about putting all his shit away perfectly and taking extra time on his cooldown.

He still doesn’t have much to do other than go home after practice though. He’s more than halfway there before he starts to consciously navigate, following his usual routine on autopilot. He does make a detour to get groceries and spends some time being ridiculously pleased to be dicking around with his phone in the coffee shop in the plaza instead of sitting on his couch wasting time in the same way, but he doesn’t really have much to do once he’s taken all his groceries home and actually put them away properly for once.

In general, Robert feels like he should leave his apartment now that the wings are gone. He’s spent a lot of time whining about being cooped up here, and it was pretty fucking awesome getting to finally go to the rink and skate again. He’s iffy for the next game, he knows that, but at this point he’s pretty sure he’s going to make a fool of himself at morning skate tomorrow, which should _never_ be that exciting, it’s like a law of the universe. He’s thrilled to be wearing a shirt, for fuck’s sake.

Sadly everyone else is not only not excited for morning skate tomorrow, but being sensible fuckers about it and refusing to go out with him to celebrate. Not that Robert’s super clear on how much they get that there’s something to celebrate, he never told Bea or Simon not to tell anyone, but he doesn’t know what Coach said.

A hammering on the front door interrupts Robert’s self-pity, followed by a long yodel from the entryway: “You here?” 

“In here,” Robert yells back and Bea pops around the corner with a stack of pizza boxes. 

“Who said you could have any, these are mine,” she says when he reaches for them, kicking out at his knees, but not fast enough to prevent him from liberating the boxes from her grasp. 

They eat pizza sprawled on the couch, which is pretty much like this whole week, except that Robert isn’t weirdly exiled to the ottoman. They talk about practice, Megs’ continued romantic fuck ups; it’s all very normal.

Bea finishes her slice, chucks her napkin back into the pizza box and stretches, legs in the air and her arms reaching back toward Robert. She lets them fall into his lap as she hooks her knees back over the arm of the couch. He’s just wearing sweats because, well, _pants_ aren’t suddenly exciting today and the back of her hand is basically right over his dick. It’s nothing really. She’ll probably move in a second.

Her knuckles run gently over the line of his cock. “Really?” Robert says, unable to help himself.

“Uh, yeah?” she says. “Why not? Or did you think I had, like, some kind of weird bird fetish?”

“You could have,” he points out.

“Do we really want to get into who was losing their mind when I was touching your crazy wings?” she says. “Because I was gonna be classy as shit, but I can totally play dirty.”

“ _Yeah_ , you can,” Robert says as sleazily as possible. 

He’s still really dumb about her stupid laugh.

“It was hot, don’t get me wrong,” she assures him, giggling, as she sits up and swings around to get up on her knees and straddle his legs. “But, y’know, this works.” She wriggles on his lap. “Man, this is a lot easier when you can sit on the couch like a normal person, hey?”

“Yeah, no longer a freak, pretty happy about it,” Robert says.

“Well, I don’t know about _that_ ,” Bea says, and Robert should probably not find being mocked that hot, but in his defense, this is a really great kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art for] Out for Two Weeks: Upper Body](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727695) by [x2xbandgeekx2x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x2xbandgeekx2x/pseuds/x2xbandgeekx2x)




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